Lesson's Not Quite Over Yet
by PlatinumRoseLady
Summary: A continuation of "You Say 'Spell', I Say 'Life Lesson'", in which Sam's got the giggles, Bobby's got some research help, and Dean's got... well, you'll just have to read it, won't you?


**Disclaimer: Don't own Sam or Dean. Or Bobby. *Grumbles* Dammit.**

**Spoilers: None**

**Author's Notes: A follow-up to "You Say 'Spell', I Say 'Life Lesson'". This is dedicated to sidjack, who suggested where the story should go. You are such a good friend.**

"You sure you're gonna be okay, Sam? You don't want anything to eat or something?" Dean questioned, eyeing his prone brother worriedly. Sam opened his eyes slightly, shook his head in response, chuckling as he did so. A tired grin was on his lips, and there was an air of helpless vulnerability about the young hunter as he struggled to hold in his mirth long enough to answer. A soft laugh escaped him as he replied, trying to calm the both of them down. He knew Dean was anxious, and although he couldn't show it, Sam was worried too. They'd arrived at Bobby's only a half hour before, and though Sam protested he could still be helpful, Bobby had firmly directed him to "park his butt on the couch and just try and be still."

So he parked his butt and did his best to be still. Giggly and more than a little bit sleepy, but still.

"I-I'm fine, Dean, re-really. J-just go he-help Bobby try and f-find a counter-sp-spell for t-this." Sam shifted his long muscular frame on Bobby's couch, trembling with laughter as the spell sent sparks of sensation dancing up his body. "W-Winchester l-luck," Sam muttered. "You ha-have to l-laugh at it don't you? Not like I've g-got m-much of a ch-choice r-right now…" He trailed off, tittering.

Usually saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person was Dean's doing. This time it was Sam – his flip comment of "Don't make me laugh" to a witch had come back to bite the Winchesters in a most curious way. Thanks to a curse with a time-delay (it hadn't hit until long after the duo had left town), Sam's nervous system had gone into overdrive, pushing the young man to the edge of hysteria, anything (or anyone) touching him sending wave after wave of tickling sensations through him until he was a quivering wreck.

"Okay. You need me, just yell." Dean reached out to brush away a lock of Sam's hair that had fallen down in front of his eyes, but stopped himself. Last time he'd touched Sam his brother had screamed with laughter, almost sounding like he was in pain. "You're not hurtin', are you, Sammy? You'd tell me if –"

"I-it's not that b-bad right now. It's r-really light, I almost don't notice it." He blew away the offending strand of hair, snickered a little. "Al-almost. Get g-going. I'll j-just r-rest in he-here." With that, Sam closed his eyes, and after a several twitches and a few more giggles, he fell into a light slumber.

Dean sighed, ran a tired hand through his own hair. He'd driven all night to get them to Bobby's and he was wiped out, too. But two sets of eyes would be better than one for searching for a counter-spell to cure Sam, so he joined Bobby in the kitchen. The elder man looked up from the stack of books he'd been perusing. "How's he doing?" he asked softly.

"He's sleeping. Or trying to, anyway." Dean sat down wearily, grabbed one of the tomes that covered the table. "Any luck yet?"

"Nope. Whatever she used, it's pretty archaic. Seems to be more of a humiliation spell, not anything that could cause permanent damage –"

"Unless he ends up laughing so hard he can't eat," Dean said gloomily.

"We'll find something before things get that bad, I'm sure. Look, if she'd wanted to, that bitch could've really put the hurt on your brother."

"Should've put a bullet between her eyes," Dean growled, absently scratching at his right ankle with his left boot. _ Damn,_ he thought_ must've gotten a bug bite or something;_ whatever it there was making his ankle itch like crazy. An odd flutter ran along his stomach, but he ignored the feeling, trying to write it off as hunger. "But Sam wanted to let her off with a warning, 'cause she wasn't really hurting anyone, just being a pain in the ass."

"That's what I'm thinking this is. A magical version of flipping Sam off," Bobby said. Dean snorted, then frowned as he wriggled in the chair, trying to get at the itch that was starting between his shoulder blades. _ Maybe I'm allergic to that new detergent Sam used…_

_Unless… oh crap. _Dean's stole a look over at Bobby, engrossed in his perusal of a stack of papers. The younger man wriggled in his seat a little more, trying to get the sensations to quit. To his growing concern, that action just seemed to spread the itch further through his body. His boots were wrapped around the chair's legs as tightly as he could hold on. He felt like the soles of his feet were covered with ants, like they were crawling up between his toes, teasing the sensitive skin.

An hour later, Bobby muttered "Son of a bitch…" and Dean's head snapped up from the musty book he'd been reading. "Tell me you found something," he said, his voice a little strained. That itchy feeling hadn't abated, but it was changing a little and he was starting to feel somewhat lightheaded._ No please no_ he thought, biting his lips to try and stop the smile that wanted to start.

"I sure did. I – what's wrong with you?" Bobby had been so engrossed in finding the counter-spell he'd barley look up from the table since Dean had sat down. "Dean? You okay? You're lookin' a little… off"

"Feeling fine – just a little a-antsy" Dean chuckled, shifting in the seat some more. He shut his mouth with a snap, his breath hitching in his throat. The feelings were staring to get stronger, darting between his ribs and over his stomach, and he was hard-pressed to keep his voice level. _ Fight it, Dean, you can block this…. _ "So, um, what d-did you find?"

"The spell she used. I was right; it's plenty old and a spell designed to humiliate your enemy." He read a little further. "Once the victim starts showing signs he's affected – in other words, laughing their dang head off- the spell winds down twenty-four hours after that. The victim ends up tired and more than a little weak, but otherwise unharmed. Sam's just gonna need some rest and –" Bobby abruptly stopped talked as he read the last paragraph.

"What? Bobby, wh-what is it?" _ Shallow breaths take shallow breaths_ Dean instructed himself, gripping onto the table, even as another portion of his brain whispered _Sam's gonna be alright. Thank you, God, Sam's gonna be okay. _

"And it's a jumper" Bobby finished, his voice a little alarmed.

"C-come again?" Dean could feel it building in his chest, the laugh wanting so badly to be released. He felt like every single nerve ending he had was being attacked by feathers, and he knew he was about to lose it.

"It's contagious, like a disease. The spell jumps from person to person through touch – it has to be skin on skin contact." He looked over at the elder Winchester. "Dean, tell me you didn't –"

"When I h-helped Sam out of the car so he could g-get in the backseat. He a-almost fell over." Dean glanced over at Bobby, green eyes sparkling with a humor he KNEW he shouldn't be feeling. "I reached out, g-grabbed his h-hands…"

And Dean Winchester, one of the fiercest hunters on the planet…. started to giggle. "Oh God, Bobby, he w-wasn't kidding, this r-really, REALLY tickles!" Dean leaned back against the chair, the giggling progressing into a belly laugh as he clutched his sides and roared with hilarity.

In the living room, Sam shifted in his sleep, and began to laugh long and hard.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

"So much for a quiet weekend around here."

The End


End file.
